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A LITTLE JOURNEY 

MAEGOT ASQUITH 



A LITTLE 
JOURNEY 



BY 



^ MARGOT ASQUITH^ 




NEW ^%S^ YORK 
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 



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COPYRIGHT. 1921, 
BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 



©CI.A654329 
DEC 28 1921. 



PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 



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A LITTLE JOURNEY 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

PART ONE 

ISth November, 1891. 

WE settled it was impossible to let Papa off — 
though he objected to the last moment, and 
when asked by Arthur Balfour on Wednesday, 
11th, at dinner, how he felt, he said, "As well as a 
man going to be executed can." Having filled a 
bag and basket with every sort of thing — from old 
letters and books to powder and a buttonhook — 
Lucy and I drove to Victoria Station and said good- 
bye to Evan Charteris, Spencer Lyttleton, Sir Al- 
gernon West, Ernest Crawley, Charty and 
Ribblesdale. 

We had a fair crossing and an excellent meal 
with M. Bocher. He had a reserved carriage 
locked up for us from Calais here. Papa read a 
book by A. Edwards on Egypt, Mamma perused 
Dante and I finished "Madame de Remusat." 
We all slept on and off. 

[7] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

RHEUMS.— We arrived here at 8.15 this morn- 
ing. Mamma told me she had left her pm^se and 
diary behind her, but this did not annoy her except 
for a moment. We went to see the cathedral when 
we had finished our coffee and rolls. It is very 
beautiful, and finer outside than anything I ever 
saw — except perhaps Lincoln. I have seen finer 
environments and finer interiors; but for imagina- 
tion, boldness and detail, I can hardly fancy any- 
thing more wonderful. It is as strong and severe 
in its decay as a skull, and has all the elegance and 
refinement of old Venetian point lace on the wed- 
ding gown of some great lady. There was a wail- 
ing funeral service going on, and a large congrega- 
tion of praying people, chiefly of men. The altar 
was hidden by black merino, and much of the decor- 
ation was swathed in black. The coloured glass 
starring the roof flashed like gems upon our eyes. 
Mamma and I knelt and said our prayers. I felt 
far from home. Papa looked at many very poor 
pictures of Christ upon the Cross, objecting in a 
critical spirit to the way they were hung. 

In the afternoon we went to see a Monsieur 
Bauer, to whom we had a letter of introduction 
from a great wine merchant. He was a courteous 
[8] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

and intelligent German, who spoke all languages, 
and took great trouble to show us the cellars and the 
whole process of champagne making. After this, 
he took us to his office, and insisted on our tasting 
two bottles of exceptionally dry champagne, which 
I thought excellent. We drank his health and 
asked him to join us in our drive round the town. 
Rheims is old and scattered, with a fine town hall 
and some interesting churches. It trades largely 
with us, and has woollen factories. Papa would 
talk his French, which was not half as good as M. 
Bauer's English. He told us that the last two 
good years for champagne were 1880 and 1887. He 
said to me, "Although I have been twenty-five 
years in France, I have never met one entirely 
sincere Frenchman." 



Milan, 16th November, 1891. 

WE arrived here at 9 to-night, having left 
Rheims for Lucerne yesterday at 9.20 a.m. 
It was a glorious night ; the lake shimmering in an 
ecstasy of moon and stars; the town misty and 
breathless, and the high throbbing electric lights 
added to the blue darkness. I stood on the balcony 

[9] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

of the Grand Hotel and watched the reflection in 
the flat lake. I finished the first volume of the 
"IMemoirs of Marbot" — an interesting and direct 
account of Napoleon's engagements. 

Had it not been for the scenery, I should have 
got on with the second volume, but it is a big book, 
though quickly read. It was a relief to get to the 
other side of the St. Gothard Tunnel, and find the 
country steeped in a snowy fog. One hundred in- 
terruptions of castles, churches, ravines, "bits" here, 
openings there, torrents and lakes everywhere had 
kept me in a continual dance. We were also under 
obligation to a civil and enthusiastic fellow-travel- 
ler, who knew every inch of the route, and even 
supphed us with maps. Papa had been foolish 
enough to try several languages on him, asking if 
the railway paid as "we seem to be the only first- 
cias^ travellers," he said. 

Mamma was deep in a book on Egyptology, 
given to Papa by Ribblesdale. She was awed and 
attracted by the dimensions of the statues and 
obelisks, one of whose feet alone, she told me, 
measured 6 ft. "It seems frightful! Just think, 
JNIargot, it is bigger than you!" 

Dimensions are always puzzling, and convey 
[10] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

nothing at all to my mind and I was deep in Auster- 
litz. Papa pleased me more by telling me that the 
second book Caxton had printed was a rhymed 
treatise upon hunting (translated by Berners) , but 
this was a serious interruption, and conveyed my 
thoughts to Easton Grey and my horses, from 
thence to Leicestershire, ending with Mashonaland 
and Peter Flower. He soon tired of this, and 
being in great form began pointing out the beauties 
of Como, and a sky which was unfortunately clear- 
ing up. He pretended he would like to live in "a 
little house just like that," pointing to the white un- 
pretentious architecture we were constantly pass- 
ing. I retorted that none of them would hold even 
his letters. Mamma teased him very deHciously. 
We dined at 6.15, and read till bedtime. 



Rome, 17th November, 1891. 

WE got up early to see Milan Cathedral. It 
is white and spiritual-looking outside, but 
it is largely faked inside and the false roof jars 
upon me. Papa spoke at the top of his voice while 
all the people were praying. I have come to the 
conclusion that he has really immense moral senti- 

[11] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

merit, a good deal of artistic sentiment, and no re- 
ligious sentiment whatever; awe is unknown to 
him. 

We got into the train at 9, and arrived here at 
11.30. I finished the second volume of "Marbot," 
which is long. I read the last fifty pages standing 
up near the lamp, as it shook less, and the daylight 
had been considerably diminished by forty-nine 
tunnels on the sea coast. Papa said, "Oh! those 
envious tunnels!" As our eyes squinted first with 
the dazzling sunlight and dancing water, and 
seemed to fade and become extinct with the dim 
lamp and stuffy interior of our compartment, we 
began to feel irascible and exhausted. Papa told 
me about the Devon and Consul Copper Mine, 
whose shares went from £l to <£l,000, which inter- 
ested me enormously, and he told it extremely welL 



Rome J ISth November. 

ON arriving at 11.10 a.m., tired and dirty, I 
wrote to Mr. Rennell Rodd and Lord Duf- 
ferin, to tell them we were here, and in the morning 
Harry Cust and Rodd came to fetch us and show 
us Rome, and Lord DufFerin asked us to dine with 
[12] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

him, but luckily, we leave the day he wanted us, as 
dining out after sightseeing is trying. I made an 
appointment to go and see him the next day. 

We started our tour by going to see St. Peter's. 
I have been fortunate enough to hear Rome poorly 
described, so I am enthralled by it all. I had no 
idea that the approach to St. Peter's was so 
splendid, the colonnade and steps so vast, and 
everything such a beautiful colour. I can quite 
imagine St. Peter's disappointing people who ex- 
pected it to be dim and worshipful. St. Paul's in 
London has more quiet, and many cathedrals have 
more reverence, but none of them could express 
more triumph. It is not prayers, but cheers, a 
kind of golden hurrah shouted up to heaven. It 
is too large to love, too bright to see, and too big to 
criticise. People have their own architecture like 
their own colour, and mine is not Roman; but I 
have no limits in taste and with all its faults I still 
see the greatness of St. Peter's. The high altar is 
the ugliest specimen of tortured taste that I ever 
saw in my life. The finest thing in the whole 
church is Michael Angelo's Virgin holding the dead 
Christ in her lap. Such a lovely little woman's 
face, such unquestioning resignation and sorrowing 

[13] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

sympathy, and the long bony body of Christ full 
of feeling! 

As usual, I passed a funeral; I am pursued by 
funerals — which is so unnecessary, as I never forget 
death, not for one moment of the day. The chants 
of monks and the thud of the long procession woke 
me up. I ran on to the balcony in my dressing 
gown, and saw the cross carried down the flaring 
Parisian street of modern Rome by white-cowled 
brothers, brown monks and sisters of charity; the 
coffin followed and a host of mourners, and car- 
riages of flowers rolled out of sight. 

After seeing a service at St. Peter's, and hearing 
fine music, we went over the Vatican. At first it 
looks like one row of cottages on the top of the 
other — little yellow houses put upon each other at 
difl'erent angles, with small windows, the whole 
building peering above a strong wall. But when 
you walk past the striped guards, up the stairs, 
and see the amount of courtyards, and rooms of 
frescoes and statues, you cannot connect the in- 
terior with what you see looking up from outside. 
The Sistine chapel and Michael Angelo's ceiling 
are feasts of beauty, but so difficult to see that it 
made my eyes ache. The figure of Adam in the 
[14] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

Creation is a perfection of line, and the little squat- 
ting woman at his feet with prophetic eyes and light 
green suit is very fascinating. Michael Angelo's 
imagination is almost too male and muscular, and 
though not as beautiful as his men, he makes women 
like women. He looked upon men as athletes and 
women as mothers. Of the sculpture I liked the 
torso, with "Apollonius" printed underneath it 
most of all. There is benediction in the attitude 
and yet power enough to kill, and nothing but one's 
fancy to decide which he is doing. I don't care for 
the Apollo Belvedere, but there is a beautiful young 
athlete at the end of a long hall which is called the 
Apoxyomenos. 

We lunched at a pothouse off macaroni and 
salad, and then drove to the Colosseum, the Forum, 
and the Capitol. I was spellbound with wonder 
and depression at the ruins of so much greatness 
and glory. The earth seems to have sighed so 
deeply that she shook off all her ornaments. A 
few fine columns, like tiaras on faded faces, some 
remnant of joyous nobility — still stand erect and 
beautiful; but there is a look of fatahty about the 
whole place which haunted me, and I never saw a 
sadder town. Not all the noise of newness, or all 

[15] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

the remade gaiety of modern buildings and boule- 
vards, theatres, and promenades can really touch 
the central current of Rome, the deep "noiseless 
current." It is dead and only the ghosts live. At 
every corner you feel the futility of man, and hear 
the faint, repeated echoes of laughter. A little 
child gambols over the broken pavement, and you 
feel the greatness of God. We walked up the steps 
to the Capitol, and saw the equestrian statue of 
Marcus Aurelius, with his kind old face, and hand 
stretched out to bless the town. 

We drove out to St. Paul's, a fine, modern 
church, with four rows of grey marble pillars, and 
no seats at all — ^more like a banqueting hall or a 
senate house. 

Harry Cust and Rennell Rodd were with us all 
the time. I discussed modern politics with the lat- 
ter and the "Rape of the Sabines" with the former. 
Then we drove up the Pincian Hill, and looked at 
the outline of Rome against a scarlet and saffron 
sky. There was a little black ilex avenue and 
round stone fountain; then a low wall, which we 
leant over and gazed at the dome of St. Peter's, 
while I said my prayers. 

We called upon the Slades on our way home; 
[16] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

and found the Colonel tired out with nursing his 
little girl, and a governess who had gone mad. The 
room was very dark, and full of photographs. I 
saw an old one of Charty and one of me, and a lot 
of Woolwich and Aldershot groups of officers, etc. 
Mamma and I drove home and we dined alone. 
After dinner, at 11.30, our guides called for us and 
took us to the Colosseum, to see it by moonlight. 
We were silent with its beauty and size and I could 
hardly sleep when we returned to bed. 

19th November, 1891. 

I WENT to see Lord DufFerin, and was much 
struck with the hideous taste of the Embassy 
and the beauty of the garden. I had a nice talk 
with Lord DufFerin. He advised me to marry; 
said I was too nice to be alone, and too clever not to 
be helping some man. He begged me not to be led 
away by personal attraction, and said respect was 
the first thing and love the second. He is very 
wise, but like all deaf people, pretends to hear, and 
has lost much of his social eclat and reply in general 
conversation. He said he could not look forward 
to the coming Radical Government, and asked me 
about my Gladstone visit. Papa and Mamma 

[17] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

picked me up, and we went on to the Capitol with 
Harry and Rennell Rodd. There are some fine 
things there, notably the heads of the emperors. 
I was disappointed with the Gladiator, admired the 
bronze Centaurs, bas-reliefs, bits of scrolls, and 
tombs with their faces weighted with sorrow. We 
then drove along the Appian Way, and saw the 
Campagna and the Catacombs. I knew I could 
not escape the latter, though I hoped a cold in my 
head would protect me. I am not much of a tourist 
but, after all, it is better to see everything. 

We had glorious weather — not one bad day, nor, 
indeed, since we left London have we seen a cloud. 
Mamma, Papa, and I dined with the Slades. I 
sat next to Dr. Axel Munthe, whose "Letters from 
a Mourning City" Maude White translated. I 
found him original and interesting, full of fancy, 
with a kind of lurid humour. We got on well as 
I recognised him quickly. 

20th November, 

MR. MUNTHE called, and drove me to the 
Pantheon, which I thought remarkably 
ugly inside. We went to two or three other 
churches, and then he took me to see the room Keats 
[18] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

died in. The Dr. lives in a regular rabbit warren 
— a mixture of his early taste in stuffs and velvets 
and his latter simplicity. Books, bronzes, religious 
relics, and medical problems, square chairs and 
some morbid French landscapes made up his in- 
terior. He is an artist and a poet; he said I had 
flown across his path like a little brilhant bird that 
conies quite close and then flies away; that I sur- 
prised him and brought him back to life ; but that he 
wished he had met me before I was spoilt. I as- 
sured him I was quite unchanged; as I was born 
with what he minded and had in no way improved ! 
He said my brain worked at lightning speed, and 
added that I must not think his indifferent English 
precluded him from being an excellent judge both 
of character and intellect. He took me to the sta- 
tion where he kissed my hands. 

We arrived at Naples at 7.30 and were joined 
by Cust and Rodd, who were staying in the same; 
hotel, having left Rome by the night train. Our 
hotel was on the quay, and I woke up to the sound 
of the waves blown up in the night. I went out on 
the balcony, and nodded to the jabbering flower 
boys below, holding up large bunches of yellow and 
pink roses. This greeting brought one of them up- 

[19] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

stairs, and we gave the little blackguard two francs 
for roses, which we observed were sold all over the 
streets for fourpence. 

I never saw such a compound of squalor, idleness, 
gaiety, dirt, noise, and colour, as Naples. Every- 
thing is done in the street — dressing, cooking, cows 
milked, boots cleaned, men shaved, girls sewing 
and singing, or brushing each other's hair. Every- 
one begs ; match-girls, flower-boys and cabmen run 
after you; lava, coral, tortoise-shell, all are shown 
with monkey gestures and in a harsh voice they call 
out: "Var cheap, var cheap!" The clothes and 
cloths that hang out of the windows, play and plait 
in the wind across the narrow slums. The harness 
of the ponies is lovely — and there is a little figure 
to keep off the evil eye on their forehead bands. 
The drivers scream at each other and race to- 
gether, or stop to get a light from each other's 
cigars, quite regardless of you. We drove to the 
Museum and for two hours I was intensely happy. 
The Narcissus thrills one by his grace; and the 
Mercury, with his serious, alert face and lovely 
darting figure. Every bronze is a masterpiece, 
and would appeal to quite ordinary people. You 
want nothing on your side to see such asserting 
[20] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

beauty; all criticism is silenced, and you can only 
wonder at people tolerating anything ugly near 
them again. 

There are disadvantages as well as advantages in 
being as sensitive to form and beauty as I am. 
Want of grace influences my opinion of people, 
and nervous clumsiness makes me cold with im- 
patience. I am fairly quick myself, but I don't 
think I upset things or step on dogs or trip over 
carpets, or waste a hundred matches before light- 
ing a candle or a cigarette, or spill champagne, or 
prick my fingers. It is not a caution, but accuracy 
and scrupulosity. Papa tries me very highly with 
lunch in the train and at all meals as he is so hasty ; 
he drops his pear upon the railway floor, and coffee 
on his clothes. He eats everything except what 
he doesn't like, and then says, "I am obliged to be 
a little careful, you see" (when rejecting some Con- 
tinental contrivance of rice and indiarubber mush- 
rooms ) . I chaiF him about this ; he has the quickest, 
but the most generous temper I ever saw. Mamma 
and I had a slight tiff in the Cameo room of the 
Museum. I said I felt nothing on seeing cameos 
as they did not appeal to my sense of beauty, at 
which she replied, in a nursery formula, "If you 

[21] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

had to make one you would admire them soon 
enough." I pointed out that manual labour, while 
commanding my respect, in no way increased my 
admiration, and would turn indifference into dis- 
like if I were the toiler. I felt quite cross and 
hated myself for it afterwards. Apart from this, 
we have been perfectly d'accord and wonderfully 
happy together. 

In the afternoon Harry and Rennell took us to 
Pompeii. It rained a little, and was rather tiring 
walking on the flagged streets, but it is wonderful 
to see. One room was painted that lovely earthy 
red, and decorated with a Louis XVI escritoire, 
with wreaths and bows in green and gold. In 
another — all fragments, with no roof, and the rain 
blowing down the court — I saw a rose tree in full 
blossom. We picked some maidenhair at the foot 
of a Corinthian column and I sent some of it in a 
letter to Evan. 

We waited an hour at the station, as the trains 
in Italy keep the most fantastic time. We all 
dined together, and I quarrelled with H. Cust over 
Victor Hugo ; I rather gave away my case by exag- 
geration. We are on the defensive with each other 
[22] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

over literature, as he thinks me a fool, and this is 
irritating, but he takes nothing really seriously — 
above all, his friends. He is seriously in love, but 
does not love seriously. 



[23] 



PART TWO 

Sunday, November 22nd. 

WE left Naples at 6.30 and had an endless 
journey to Brindisi, starting with eight in 
a carriage. I heard a Neapolitan Jew, after gazing 
at me, say to his friend that I was charming. He 
spoke in dialect, but one wants no interpreter for 
this kind of language. I had a cold in my head and 
chest, and my hair felt heavj^. Thanks to Papa, 
preferring to listen to Cook's man, who met us at 
the station, instead of our courier Corelli, we were 
bundled into a 'bus with eight people in it, and there 
we waited an hour till everyone had reclaimed their 
luggage. As there were two ships and several 
'buses, a stormy confusion raged between the pas- 
sengers. Oaths in every language and a jumble 
of Italian, French, English and American voices 
reached our ears. We all sat passive, while the 
porters peered into the railway carriages. At last, 
after a tedious wait, we drove to the P. and O. ship 
Bokhara — a long, jolty drive. We climbed up the 
[24] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

slanting board of a moderate-sized ship, and I was 
greeted by the old familiar smell of smuts and oil, 
steam and noise. A highly fringed stewardess with 
a superior manner showed us our berths — a small, 
ugly, narrow room with three beds in it which 
Mamma and I had to ourselves. A row of 
mustard-coloured wooden basins on an upper shelf 
above my head did not restore my confidence. The 
water bottles and the washhand-stands looked 
dirty, and the beds were iron-hard. We washed as 
well as we could, and turned into an endless dining- 
room, where we sat down on each side of the first 
officer — ^the sort of man I never meet — small, with 
clear eye and yellow hair, indifferent and civil, with 
a scanty laugh and businesslike way of eating or 
refusing. He was neither stupid nor vulgar, clever 
nor refined, just a simple, everyday man. After 
eating soup and chicken we went to bed, arranging 
shawls under the sheets. My bed, which was under 
the window, commanded a searching draught, and 
our door shut imperfectly ; but as the ship was still 
and we were tired, we dozed off ; suddenly we were 
awakened by the most awful noises ; doors banging, 
people talking, every voice on each side distinctly 
heard — only thin planks between the cabins — 

[25] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

porters, people and baggage overhead, which went 
on most of the night. Huge boxes and cases were 
dragged along over our heads and bumped down, 
sometimes one bump, sometimes three or four for 
each box ; there must have been at least a hundred, 
and feet going all the time, with shouts and screams. 
That night was my idea of hell! At 6.15 I felt a 
longer drag than the others, and then three little 
muffled bumps, and I knew the ship had started 
on the smooth harbour water. By this time the sun 
was flooding the water and illuminating our cabin, 
so that sleep was out of the question. Then the 
plates were laid and breakfast began to be pre- 
pared, more feet moving, china smashing and, 
thanks to the motion of the ship, our door was per- 
petually bursting open. 

Monday, November 2Srd, 

OUR stewardess came in at 7.40 with tea, and 
I felt as if I had never been in bed at all. 
We got up after 10, as the sea was still, and I went 
to have a big bath of hot salt water with a strong 
smell in it of oily steam. I had a foot-pan of fresh 
water to soap with. The screw below the bath 
made me feel as if I bad no inside worth mention- 
[26] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

ing. We all went on deck, where I tried to read; 
but the wind was just enough to make this tiresome, 
and whichever side I chose to sit on was smutty, so 
I walked up and down and looked at the other 
people — a tiresome lot of faces of the type one sees 
at stations or table d'hote or in the English churches 
abroad — one nice-looking man. Captain Martyr, in 
the Egyptian army, and rather a pretty, airified 
American woman with a challenging walk and com- 
placent face. After walking up and down with 
Papa, I went to my cabin, and wrote this diary, sit- 
ting on a low box, and putting my ink and paper on 
the bed, a shrill draught all round me, and the 
throb of the engines underneath. At 1 we lunched, 
and Papa talked to an American lady, while Mam- 
ma and I ate curried eggs. I began to feel ill in the 
middle of lunch, and went to bed directly after 
without exactly undressing. There was hardly a 
motion; but my head ached, and I lay still for two 
hours; then, making an effort, I went on deck and 
found Papa with a huge cigar playing quoits, and 
was introduced to his new friends — Captain 
Martyr, in Egyptian army, who cursed sea voy- 
ages, and a nice Mrs. and Major Fenwick in the 
Cairo pohce. I made myself agreeable, but I felt 

[27] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

too ill to stay, so went to bed and talked to the 
stewardess, and soon found out all her history. It 
was a curious one, reminding me of a Whyte Mel- 
ville novel, "The White Rose." A flashy garrison 
girl, who comes to a poor end. She had been en- 
gaged to a man, "hevry hinch the very hessence of 
a gentleman" ; but she ran away from him and mar- 
ried a good-for-nothing who had attracted her. 
He beat and ruined her, and died of a "gy life" 
(gay life) . He was a splendid-looking man, "big- 
grown with a black beard," and an awful black- 
guard. She had "a hodd thousand or more," but 
he had spent it all, etc. With this kind of talk I 
got through the evening of the 23rd. 



On Thursday, November 26th, 

WE arrived in Alexandria at 7 a.m., after a 
hot, sleepless night. Lovely sunrise; the 
Khedive's palace, a white building with flat roof, 
rising out of a violet sea, looked particularly 
Oriental. Fearful jabbering and confusion of 
dragomen and luggage, fly-men, pilots, soldiers, 
policemen, children, screams and perspiration! 
We gave up the first train and drove round the 
[28] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

town to a garden full of roses and date palms, 
passing a lot of handsome white donkeys, Arabs 
and people of all sorts, some in white hoods, others 
in turbans and fezes, or tarbouches, as I think they 
are called. They are a nation of great manners 
over here. The bow the gardener gave me, as if 
apologising for his gift of roses, was splendid, full 
of grace and dignity. But the poor are hideous! 
— the women like mummies covered with flies ; and 
children like dolls of rag. We passed a tent in 
which an Arab wedding was going on, and long, 
low, minor music accompanied it. Our dragoman, 
whose English wanted interpretation, said, "One 
Arab takes one woman — music — you see." 

Masses of dusty earth and cabbages; horrible 
dogs wanderinsT disconsolately about; dromedaries, 
goats, buffaloes, starved cows and skeletons of 
horses; men and women smoking, squatting and 
washing, and I saw no grass. We had lunch at 
the Hotel Khedive. I took up the Egyptian 
Gazette and read the death of Lord Lytton, and 
was much shocked and wrote to Lady Betty. 

We travelled to Cairo, leaving Alexandria at 4 ; 
arrived at Cairo at 8 and drove in a char-^a-hanc to 
the hotel. My eyes, though extinct with fatigue, 

[29]^ 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

dwelt with delight on so much that was beautiful 
and unexpected in the hotel. 

Luigi, the proprietor, is a genius, I can see. I 
found three letters for me from Sir Algy West, 
Mr. Asquith and Mr. Milner. 



Cairo, Hotel Continental, November 27th, 

I SLEPT badly, as I hate coarse, unbleached 
sheets, and iron-hard pillows, and mosquito 
nets make me feel hot. Got up at 3 a.m., found 
nothing to do; opened the windows and went to bed 
again; slept fitfully till six. Mr. Milner called 
and took us to a mosque at 10.30. I like to talk to 
him, though he makes me feel a little too dependent 
on information to talk really well. Arthur Bal- 
four has precisely the opposite effect. The fact is, 
I do not know enough, and all the "imaginative in- 
sight" in the world will not serve instead of knowl- 
edge to eighty out of a hundred people. I had a 
fascinating drive through the big streets and by- 
ways under the highest of light blue skies and a 
lovely sun ; groups of graceful, idle, slovenly Arabs 
sat or lolled, with lithe limbs, and folded gowns 
gathered round their arms and legs in coloured 
[30] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

beauty of violet, blue and white. White here seems 
to have brown shadows like Munkacsy's pictures. 
Sloping, shuffling camels with tragic faces slipped 
silently past with men on their backs carrying 
babies and bundles wrapped in dust. The people 
here are always tired, and always dirty. The 
riders seem to be part of their mounts ; they move 
with the uneven paces of camels or donkeys, and sit 
on their backs with or without reins or stirrups. 
The white donkeys with their poor heads tightly 
tied up are magnificent. I went up to one grin- 
ning Arab boy and loosed his donkey's head, to his 
vast amusement. He bowed, touching his head and 
breast, and I smiled my apology. 

The mosque was curious and savage. A stone 
stair outside (such as you see in an English 
granary), with steep steps, four or five, and wide, 
sloping, dark stone passages, with badly paved 
floors and odd dark corners. I passed a few beggars 
sitting with their heads on their knees, and women 
with their faces turned to the wall, and their 
babies sitting straddled on their shoulders. We 
came to a wooden bar about 2 ft. off the ground and 
a row of Turkish slippers under the bar. These 
were tied on over our shoes by squatting negroes of 

[31] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

no distinguishable race, after which we went into 
the interior of the mosque. It was a wild-looking 
place, open at the roof, with a round stone fountain, 
or pond, covered in by a sort of baldaquin with 
three steps round it, where the worshippers were 
washing their feet and stomachs; further on there 
was a single step leading to a sort of alcove, show- 
ing the road to Mecca, inlaid with Moorish marble 
of faded colours, originally, I dare say, very fine, 
but all out of repair, broken off with a streak of 
turquoise stone, like an ember in a dead fire. No 
altar except this corner, but a pulpit for the 
preacher, and a raised square place like an idealised 
cabman's shelter, where a man reads from the 
Koran all the time. It was Friday, the Arab Sun- 
day, so service was going on. Men on bits of mat- 
ting, kneeling with their foreheads upon the 
ground, turned towards the east, and the brown 
soles of their feet made a long line. 

In the afternoon Mr. Milner took us to the pony 
races, where we saw Cairo society, and were intro- 
duced to the Barings and Grenfells, etc. Sir 
Evelyn struck me as a man of stature, and I am 
sure she is a great lady. Lady Grenfell wonder- 
fully agreeable with a small waist, and her husband, 
[32] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

big, genial and Oriental in appearance. The race- 
course is lovely, surrounded by palm trees; and in 
the evening the citadel above Cairo looked peach 
colour with the faint afterglow. 

November 2Sth, 

WE went to the bazaars and bought silks and 
embroideries. Papa became rather im- 
patient. I don't care about shopping with a man, 
although I am not very feminine as regards shop- 
ping. I never go except as an accompaniment to 
someone else. I bought a Sais's dress to dance in 
and a little blue savage-looking ornament. 

In the afternoon I rode on Captain Martyr's 
pony with Major Fenwick. It was a funny little 
pony, an Arab, with short shoulders, a hard mouth 
and the stumbling gait of a thoroughly bad hack. 
It trotted as if it had a cart behind it. We rode 
through the town to the racecourse, which we gal- 
loped round. Papa played golf on bad ground, 

and I got home late and hot to find Mrs. 

anxious to take me to Lady Grenfell's "afternoon." 
I dived into a bath and my clothes, and went to 

wi^ite our names at the Barings. Mrs. -, 'a 

most good-natured sort of woman, told me several 

[33] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

times she was not a "big person in Cairo, but en- 
joyed herself all the same." I listened absently. 
She asked me what I should do if I were placed in 
the same dilemma as she had been — the General's 
wife had, or had not, called on her; should she, or 
should she not, call upon her? or some such prob- 
lem. I felt as if I had been translated into a society 
novel such as those sold for "light reading" on a 
railway stall — "Cut by the County" or "Ought 
We to Visit Her?" 

Mr. Milner took us to the opera in the evening, 
and we saw a French company perform "Le 
Barbier de Seville." Italian music is insultingly 
obvious, and has no argument whatever. Between 
the airs — ^which are pretty — there is insignificant 
padding, which is irritating to a musical person. 



Sunday, November 29th, 

I GOT up late, having had a bad night. Nerv- 
ous of the animal world, hot and exhausted, I 
lay awake, thinking of a hundred things, till 4 a.m. 
I went to church with Mamma and Papa in the 
morning, and soldiers showed us into our pews. 
We heard an excellent sermon. The clergyman 
[34] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

said the reaction from a Puritan hell into modern 
heaven turned God from good into good-natured 
or words to that effect. He quoted Buckle and 
Tennyson, and yet spoke quite simply and directly. 
After lunch Captain Martyr drove with us to the 
University Mosque — quite the most marvellous 
sight I have ever seen. Thousands of men and 
boys in groups on the floor, learning the Koran, 
some learning by themselves, others round a pro- 
fessor ; all speaking at once and swaying to and fro; 
rings of children that made me giddy to watch, all 
jabbering their lessons. Some men, entirely 
covered up, like graceful corpses, sleeping on the 
floor; others on their little matting or piece of 
carpet praying. It was large and low, full of pil- 
lars like a crypt, with flat stone roof and straw mat- 
ting and an alcove to Mecca. It was a religious 
university, and not one word of what they learn 
there is, I am told, of the slightest use to them, but 
the same teaching has gone on for ages and ages. 
The effect of light from big openings in the roof be- 
tween the grey pillars on these myriad of sitting 
figures was immensely striking. I saw some fine 
intellectual faces among the teachers; they looked 
clean, interested and unself -conscious. 

[35] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

Mr. Alfred Milner took me for a long drive up 
the Nile. The loveliest effects I ever saw were the 
sailing ships, with their bent poles and sails furled 
round them, like the petals of a flower when the sun 
goes down, all closed round in a kind of close vir- 
ginity, white and beautiful; the masts shooting up 
into a red rose sky, with purple bars across and, as 
it were, preventing the palm trees from catching 
fire. We walked and drove in turns and had a 
memorable talk. He has a very rare mind. 
Without being a humorous man, he has a fine sense 
of humour; and if he likes you enough to forgive 
your spontaneity, you expand and feel remarkably 
at your ease with him. The Nile was full of 
twinkle, reproducing the sunset with a smile. 



[36] 



PART THREE 

Monday, November SOth. 

MAMMA not well. There is something in 
the Cairo air that is a trifle upsetting. She 
stayed in bed, and Papa went to a gun shop with 
Captain Besant, to see about his gun and cartridges 
for the Nile. I do not know what he will shoot, 
unless a camel or a crocodile! I took the oppor- 
tunity to buy some Arab silky cottons for my maid 
to make me a shirt. I took my dragoman, whose 
face reminded me of my groom, Frost; rather 
darker in colour than the regular Egyptian; very 
clean and well dressed. He bargained for me, and 
said I was so fine and kind because I smile at the 
natives, and they all loved me — ^which was a sort 
of blarney. He took me to a scent shop, and the 
man, squatting, as they all do here in their open 
booths, begged me to sit down. It was like a little 
stage, and I sat where the footlights ought to have 
come, and dangled my feet over a raised edge. He 
opened several big bottles, and, taking my hand, 

[37] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

turned my sleeve down, and rubbed my wrist with a 
pungent smell of violets and syrup, and then kissed 
my wrist with infinite grace. I bought some violets 
and attar of roses in pretty bottles, and he gave me 
some incense for a present, bowing low. I de- 
parted, holding my white skirt rather close, as the 
jostle of children, donkeys, women, flies, watermen 
and beggars in the native bazaar is stifling, and 
you have an idea that so much hot dirt must beget 
disease. The children came and touched me, and 
stared, and ran away, as if I were too clean to be 
real. They are all like great babies and very easily 
amused. 

After lunch I went for a ride with my friend of 
the boat, who kindly mounted me on an Arab three 
years old — small and slippery, but full of vitality, 
and moved like oil under me. He took me to the 
desert, beyond the powder-magazine, through some 
suburbs and stray buildings to the Khedives' tombs. 
We seemed to be riding on rock sprinkled with 
sand, very hard and uneven and dull loose stones 
all over the place. Major Fenwick was not pre- 
judiced by this ; and, when we were a little less upon 
the rock and more upon the sand, we started full 
tilt, passing a travelhng party of donkeys, right up 
[38] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

over a rise of the ground, till we got to a flattish 
top, from which we had a marvellous view of the 
Nile stretching below us in a tan-coloured desert. 
We saw three foxes, two like cats, sunning them- 
selves in the rocks, and the third stealing along 
under the tombs. I could not have "halloed" to 
save my life, though they were just like English 
foxes, big and swift, with grey hairs in their coats. 
We had to pick out our way here and there, as the 
ground was cut out into chalk pits. The Jewish 
cemetery from a distance looked rather pathetic, 
as Arabs do not allow a Jew to be buried in Cairo, 
and sometimes the police have to protect Jewish 
funerals. There is an extraordinary fascination in 
galloping silently along the desert — a feeling of 
warm, still desolation. The palm trees thrust their 
copper lances into the sky, and burst into green as 
they get near the sun. The citadel looked like the 
background of a religious picture, with a pink and 
lilac setting, each angle reflecting a different colour, 
like the facets of a jewel. An occasional camel 
and group of Bedouins slipped noiselessly past, and 
I felt as if I had intruded upon the Old Testament. 
In the evening Mr. Milner and Captain Besant 
dined with us, and then Papa, they, and I drove in 

[39] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

an open carriage into the bazaars, where there was 
a feast they called Mulid el Hasanain (the feast of 
Hasan and Husain) , which was most curious. The 
whole native population in the streets and every 
shop, booth and stage (as I call them) were illum- 
inated; the houses joined by flags, small, square and 
red, ^vith a white pattern. 

As there are no pavements to distinguish where 
to walk and where to drive, and the crowd was im- 
mense and highly excited, driving was dangerous. 
The people work themselves up by swaying to and 
fro, and beating gongs and singing monotonous 
chants, which tone in well with the native colour- 
ing; everything there is in a minor key with endless 
repetition. I can imagine being hypnotised by the 
sound and the swing of an Arab crowd. The 
sharp, sudden scream of a lunatic as he passes you 
with his arms up and his mouth open makes you 
start. He will stop and smile at you, with an air 
of half savage, half friendly good nature. We saw 
women dancing in a revolting way, shaking their 
stomachs and bosoms, while keeping their heads 
quite still; their eyes were painted till they glowed 
like snakes ; thej^ were naked to the waist, and a sort 
of heavy embroidery skirt caught up to show a bit 
[40] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

of leg gave an air of squalor. They hold them- 
selves beautifully, and their necks are straight and 
strong from carrying weights. We got out of the 
carriage and walked down a dark alley to look at a 
Persian carpet shop. Mr. Milner knew the man, 
and they handed me up on to the stage, and offered 
us tea. I had my short, red Spanish gown on, and 
a diamond at my throat, which I saw two Israelites 
staring at. I wore a black hat and my blue and 
sable cloak. We all sat on chairs. Mr. Milner in 
his tarbouche looked quite Oriental. We had 
glasses of strong black tea — very good — and I felt 
as if I were doing the heroine at amateur theatri- 
cals, only the masses of people passing at our feet 
were not taking any interest in the play. We 
shook hands, and smiled, and went away. When 
Mr. Milner asked how trade was going on, the old 
shopman answered, "Much business — small 
profits." The usual Cairo lie, as I hear they coin 
money in the carpet shops. 

The Nile, Cook's Steamer ''Barneses" Dec, 1st, 

WE embarked at 10, armed with roses pre- 
sented by the hotel-keeper. The Conti- 
nental Hotel is the best I have ever seen in any 

[41] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

country — bathroom, bedrooms, lighting and ventila- 
tion perfect. Our salon was quite beautiful, hung 
with satins and embroideries that filled my eye. I 
wish I did not set so much store by beauty; I could 
look at a bright colour or a fine design for hours. 
If I were allowed to ride and read and make love 
in the sun, I could be intensely happy. I was born 
out of doors, but, though a gipsy in some ways, I 
know no one upon whom dii-t, ugliness, discomfort 
and unpunctuality jar so much. A mixture of a 
city clerk or post-office woman and a wandering 
circus girl. 

I felt in watching my parents what a wonderful 
cross they made. As a family, we ought to be more 
remarkable. The refinement and gentle un- 
worldliness, mixed with originality of Mamma ; her 
sensitive shrinking from moral responsibility and 
decisions of any kind; her social diffidence, unsel- 
fishness, and reserve — all fit and modify Papa's 
abundant vitality and fearlessness; his push, un- 
self-consciousness and unreflecting remarks are too 
simple to oiFend. He has the sweetest and most 
generous temper, and the finest kind of nature, in- 
capable of hurting anyone's feelings — too busy, too 
healthy, too fond and full of life to feel anything 
[42] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

morbidly. His brain has, through circumstances, 
developed sides, of which his children know noth- 
ing; but we are all more like him than Mamma in 
our energy and geniality to strangers and servants. 
The boys have more of Mamma's self-effacing re- 
serve, but we have Papa's confidence and hope; we 
have missed the beauty of my mother's family and 
I cannot share her view that this is a good thing — 
"It protects one from temptation," she always says. 



On Cook's Steamboat, 

THIS ship or boat is a model of clean, wise ar- 
rangement; good berths, a fine deck, and 
shaded from the sun. It is expensive and beauti- 
fully done. As there are about thirty passengers, 
while room for eighty, we each have a double berth 
to ourselves. 

The Nile is quite still, nothing upsets, not even 
my interior, which is saying a good deal. My 
temples rumble a little, but, on the whole I feel well. 
The air is like Scotland on a September day — clear, 
strong and lovely. Though I trembled in antici- 
pation of this journey, I know I shall enjoy my- 
self. You cannot escape draughts on a ship — of 

[43] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

that I am sure ; and I doubt if people read much on 
a yacht. I wrapped up warmly, and read Wallis 
Budge's book on the Nile, with which Mr. Cook pre- 
sents all his passengers, and which teaches one a 
great deal. I also read an article in Blackwood's on 
evacuating Eg}^pt — extremely reliable and sen- 
sible. As a party cry, it is wicked, as well as fool- 
ish, to talk of evacuating Egypt. Gladstone is as 
ignorant of the true state of this country as a child 
is of matches ; and his foreign policy is insular to a 
degree. What with Salisbury's want of tact and 
Gladstone's party squibs, Egypt is likely to be- 
come a great difficulty to us. 

After an early lunch, we landed at Bedresheyna, 
and mounted on donkeys to ride to Memphis and 
Sakkara. The row and crowd of donkey-boys, all 
keen to tell you of their donkeys' merits, was deaf- 
ening. "Ah! ha! here! — var good — all right — 
gallop fast! Yah!Tia! speak English he," etc. I 
chose a small white donkey, with his mane painted 
orange, that proved to be an angel ; quick and sensi- 
tive to my heel, he threaded his way along a tow- 
ing path, between two cultivated swamps, where 
men and boys were working without clothes. We 
rode many miles, a party of twenty off the ship. 
[44] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

I was quite happy, on a comfortable saddle of 
Cook's, riding m}^ fleet little donkey. 

We saw the remains of Memphis, and the colos- 
sal statue of Rameses II, 48 ft. in height, but it 
was lying down, and we climbed a scaffolding to see 
its gigantic face, and the serpent, which is the sym- 
bol of royalty, on his diadem. We passed some old, 
ugly, and not very high pyramids, and the Sakkara, 
the burial-ground of the ancient Egyptians, which 
are like so many sandy holes. One donkey fell, and 
the gentleman flew over his head. At first I 
thought mine would, as the ground was too rough 
for his little pattering feet; but he never stumbled 
once, and we went on to the Serapeum, or Apis 
Mausoleum, where the sacred bulls .at Memphis 
were buried — great granite sarcophagi, which we 
descended underground to see. We walked down 
endless corridors in a stifling atmosphere breathed 
by thousands of tourists, as unchangeable as the 
catacombs, and quite unventilated. The place was 
lit by tallow dips, which we all held. 

The only beauty I saw was a tomb of some great 
ruler (b.c. 3500), a stone room covered with faint 
bas-reliefs of him and his wife and various animals. 
The ruler very big, and his wife sitting at his feet 

[45] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

clasping one of his calves, with little figures of his 
retainers all round him. The donkeys, geese, 
birds, crocodiles, cats, etc., all beautifully drawn; 
they might have been done yesterday; every nostril 
and claw was raised in fine stone. The ruler and 
his wife were coloured a sort of Pompeian red, 
smeared all over their stiff, wide- shouldered, slim- 
waisted bodies. 

We returned at 4, and as I was full of desert 
sand, I had a bath. I went on deck and watched 
the wonderful river. It is full of turns and bends, 
and the banks are beautiful, with strips of emerald 
where the ground is cultivated. High pampas 
grass on orange sand, or plantations of palm trees 
standing in the water. We keep in the middle of 
the river, which is wide; but we can see the banks 
and country clearly. The Bedouins camp out in 
corn or sugar cane; their camels lying dow^n round 
them. They live in mud huts with no windows, like 
the old nursery picture books — "Beavers at Home," 
or any other animal that raises mounds over its 
back. 

The hilly outline of the horizon is what surprises 
me, as I always thought the desert was flat and un- 
cultivated. The boats, filled with green rushes, 
[46] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

have pointed sails, and are wonderfully pictur- 
esque, the men standing up lazily rowing a single 
oar, between high bending masts. The hills on the 
horizon are sand, and take curious shapes. They 
look as if they had been made by the Egyptians, 
who were artists in everything except in their men 
and women, who lack grace and variety. 

Sometimes the villages are superior — square, 
low, stone houses with windows, and in front of 
them herds of goats, donkeys and starved-looking 
dogs, all the colour of sand and revelling in the mud 
at the edge of the Nile. We saw a flock of pelicans 
flying into the sun, and flocks of turkeys. 

I cannot do anything in a draught, except walk 
and smoke cigarettes, or lie on a chair and think. 
We have breakfast at 8, lunch at 1, and dinner at 
7; electric light goes out at 11, and the ship does not 
move at night, so I look forward to sleeping well, 
which I seldom did in Cairo. The air here is really 
creative and I feel well and happy. 

Wednesday, December 2nd, 1891. 

A QUIET day; no expedition. I wrote my 
diary, played the piano, spoke to a French 
lady, but grudge all time wasted in talking 

[47] 



A LITTLE JOURXEY 

to people that I do not feel I can listen to. I speak 
without saying anything, and listen without under- 
standing. I am glad of this, as I shall have time to 
read and write. I began to long for England and 
the grass and rain. 

I never go abroad without feeling pride in my 
country. We are honest and trusted; we are 
brave, and inspire courage, and we are cultivated 
and clean. If you want to Matter a Frenchman or 
an Austrian, you have only to say you took him for 
an Englishman. We women get our taste in 
clothes from Paris, but the French and Austrians 
get their clothes in London, and their tastes in sport 
from us. We might do well to copy the manners 
of the Austrians or Arabs, and imitate the French 
in their enunciation and cooking of vegetables. 
Beyond this, I never saw a country that did not 
tempt me to say, "Thank God I am Enghsh," or 
a religion that did not make me pray for others and 
bless my God. 

There are three things we lack, and perhaps al- 
ways will lack — courtesy, music and sculpture. 
The French are far ahead of us in these. Also 
there is a fashion in our hterature for confused 
form. We have humour, philosophy, morality 
[48] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

and poetry in our novels, but no style. JMeredith 
cannot be said to have Voreille juste. The French 
are monotonously fond of one subject in their 
literature, but their method and style are perfect. 
They begin and finish at the right place; they 
choose happy epithets, and do not repeat them- 
selves or weaken their vocabulary by slang. There 
is an opening now in France for a healthy novelist 
with imagination and humour. Their books want 
filtering; ours need condensing. 



Nile, off Assiout, Thursday, December Srd, 

WOKE up, feeling dull. Wrote letters to 
England. We stopped and went on land 
to see the small tombs. My donkey, odious brute ! 
fell twice. I slipped oiF successfully each time on 
to my toes. Our dragoman wanted us to walk up 
a hot, sandy hill to see an ancient tomb, and most 
of the party went, but I remained sitting on the 
rocks, looking over the landscape — high and green 
corn below and a silver line of Nile beyond, with 
rock hills above us ; all the donkeys and Arab boys, 
in lazy groups, waiting for their riders. 



[49] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

December Mh. 

LANDED at Assiout at 3, and went for a 
donkey ride. We rode through the bazaar, 
and I bought two yellow silk sashes, a bunch of 
roses, and a large dirty coiFee-pot — savage and 
handsome, made of copper. There was a marvel- 
lous sunset, like flocks of gold birds disappearing 
into hell. 

In the evening an old reverend gentleman chal- 
lenged me to dance with him. I always thought he 
was a little touched in his head, and he told me that 
after a heavy fall he had lost his memory. He 
danced foolishly, but actively. I was persuaded 
into dancing alone with my castagnettes. I got 
no letters in Assiout, and could have sobbed with 
intense disappointment and boredom. My twenty- 
five fellow-passengers looked ugly and common, 
and I execrated travelling. I hate the idleness, 
monotony, and helplessness of a ship; the up and 
down! up and down! noise of paddles and the un- 
changing ugliness of the crew. If it were not for 
the Arab servants, and the outlook, I should go into 
a consuming melancholy. Not a man here ever 
opens a book, except a wall-ej^ed professor, who 
speaks to no one, not even to his wife. The general 
[50] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

talk is whether the boat, Barneses the Greats has or 
has not better food, or people, or accommodation, 
and whether the old gentleman does not drink to 
inspire such activity. I assured them that he was 
mad enough to make him independent of any re- 
storative. 



[51] 



PART FOUR 

Assiowt, December 5th, 

NO letters! How slender one's hold upon 
one's friends is ! I believe if I were to stay- 
in Egypt a year and die of any of the many disgust- 
ing sights here ( donkeys' wounds pricked with pins, 
babies' eyes eaten out by flies, boys beaten, horses 
starved, etc. ) , no one would miss me. One makes 
as much impression on people as a fly on a bun. 
When I read of Parnell or Lasalle or smaller men 
who have arrested attention, I feel full of envy, and 
wish I had been born a man. In a woman all one's 
own internal urging is a mistake; it leads to noth- 
ing, and breaks loose in sharp utterances and pas- 
sionate overthrows of conventionality. 

We walked up a hill to see the view of the town 
this morning, which was repaying, though I felt 
sore with disappointment at getting no letters. It 
is one of the drawbacks of ship life that, unless you 
lock yourself in the bathroom or lie in your berth, 
you are never alone. It is as necessary for me to 
[52] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

be alone some part of every day as to wash, dress, 
read or ride. 

Sunday, December 6th, 

I HARDLY realised it was Sunday, but read 
the morning Psalms in Laura's prayer book, 
and wondered if God did much for me. Read 
Duntzer's "Life of Goethe." Extremely hot. 
Papa finished "Eothen." Hated myself for feel- 
ing so bored and depressed. Unable to write or 
read for wind and people. Read review of Rose- 
bery's "Pitt" and Traill's "Salisbury," and an al- 
lusion to George Curzon in the Review of Reviews, 
Felt happy at thinking of my friends' advancement 
— Arthur Balfour and George Curzon. Read 
quotations out of M. Filou's article on J. Morley; 
was much struck by several things, especially the 
last saying, "Truth is quiet." It seemed to heal 
me. The French admire J. Morley immensely. 
This summer M. de Vogue raved about him to me 
— if you can imagine the praise of so stiff and grave 
a man being called raving. I can quite see how 
thoughtful Frenchmen must be struck by Morley; 
his austerity and healthiness must almost wound 
the majority of them, while exciting their high- 

[53] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

est admiration and respect. He looks at life from 
a height, quietly, objectively and a little grey- 
ly. His philosophy steps in between him and 
political power. He lacks faith. There is a thin 
veil between his principles and his personality. One 
knows — without asking why — that he will never be 
Prime Minister. M. A. Filou says of Morley's 
"Compromise": "It is a frank book; a little blunt; 
not very conciliatory ; and very imperious as a sum- 
mons." He says of his "Rousseau": "It is in this 
book that we find those alternations between dis- 
dain and indulgence, that shrinking disgust, and re- 
turning out of pity, which characterise him, and 
which his subject, alas! so well justified." 



Monday, December 7th. 

SAW Denderah, the finest temple we have yet 
seen. The top of each column is caught up 
like a curtain and coloured turquoise blue; they 
are covered with bas-reliefs of kings and prisoners, 
ships and serpents. I noticed a finer type of face 
— Nero on one wall and Cleopatra on another, and 
a lovely panther — with a dead figure lying on it — 
Greek in design. 
[54] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

Liuooor, December 7th, 

WE got to Luxor in the finest sundown I ever 
saw; no trace of brown river, merely a 
sheet of molten, undulating gold, verging into cop- 
per towards the banks. The whole inhabitants 
turned out to see us arrive — dignified, graceful 
figures, in long chemises of brown or green, blue 
arid white; handsome, superior men, for Luxor 
is a big town. They stood, or squatted, or leant 
against their donkeys, with a background of the 
massive granite blocks of the Temple of Luxor. 
The many columns were in long avenues, a colossal 
figure of a god or king between each, and a finely 
cut obelisk stood out violet in the dead sunlight. 

Mr. Harris, my nice ex-railway director, took 
Papa and me across to the hotel to see if there were 
any letters. We walked through the garden and 
the old gentleman stopped and, picking me a pink 
rose, said, *'I know a genuine article when I see it — 
I am too old to flatter. Young lady, you are 
charming." I found eighteen letters, three of 
which were quite incomprehensible to me from 
Mary Drew: "Risking mischief-making, I cannot 
resist this enclosure" (I need hardly say there was 
no enclosure) ; "but if you can go and see him, you 

[55] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

will soon be on the best of terms," etc. Who "he" 
is I have no notion whatever! I at once wrote to 
ask. The next was from E. C: "I regret having 
sent you my lettter. Why can I not trust you? — 
Yours in nothing but haste. — E." Having never 
heard from E., I could not understand this, and 
felt vexed at the stupidity of my friends, but pro- 
ceeded to devour charming letters from Mr, As- 
quith, Ribblesdale, Oscar Wilde — dedicating a 
story to me, "The Star Child"— one from Mr. 
Rodd, sending me the Revue des Deux Mondes; 
and one from Mr. Algernon West, sending me 
Lord Rosebery's "Pitt," which I read into the night 
and early morning. 

Luxor, December 8th, 

WE crossed the Nile to see the tombs of the 
kings and lunched in "Tomb 18." Much 
as I respect Cook and despise people who think 
it vulgar to go and see places of interest in com- 
pany with strangers, I felt a faint shudder at the 
announcement of our lunching spot! Most of the 
tombs are 30 ft. to 40 ft. underground, and the col- 
ours wonderfully preserved. Some of the ceilings 
most beautiful. I was immensely pleased with a 
[36] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

yellow panther surrounded by stars and a snake 
with three heads, four legs, one tail and two wings. 

After lunch we climbed up a wild, sandy, stony 
hill to see a view of the desert and the Nile, lonely, 
savage and strange. I was reminded of some text 
in the Old Testament about the shadow of a great 
rock in a dusty plain. After a long ride we sailed 
back across the river to our steamer in the warm 
light of sundown. 

Sitting next to Mr. Harris at dinner I had a 
good talk. He was discussing French poetry, and 
I abused the Messieurs and Mesdames and gen- 
eral poorness and stiltedness of Corneille and Ra- 
cine. He told me that Byron had called French 
poetry "Monotony in wire," and I delighted him 
by telling him of a gentleman who had never 
known Platonic affection till he married. A pro* 
pos of Dizzy and his power of cut and thrust, he 
said that after some speech of Lord Salisbury's he 
had said, "The noble Lord's invective lacks finish.'* 
Mr. Harris is a subtle-minded, clever old man. 



[57] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

Luxor, Wednesday, December 9th. 

I READ Rosebery's "Life of Pitt" in bed and 
watched the scarlet sun rising over the hill. My 
berth is close to the water, and the moon slants over 
the blankets, casting a light on my modern pur- 
chases of scarabs, mummies and blue "uspabli" fig- 
ures neatly arranged on the uninhabited bed. 

We rode from Luxor to see Karnak (date about 
B. c. 1600), perhaps the finest temple on the Nile. 
The type of face on the walls is magnificent, and all 
is in perfect preservation. It rather damps my 
enterprise being in a small, dark room full of fel- 
low-passengers holding tallow dips in front of their 
noses, listening to the monotonous voice of the drag- 
oman telling lies about Rameses or Seti, with bats 
whirling round our heads. 

After lunch we were photographed in a vulgar 
group, ruins in front and columns behind, and two 
handsome savages imported from the hills. My 
face comes out large and solid, and Mamma's looks 
like a heathen idol ! 



[58] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

December 10th, 

GOT up early and saw the Temple of Medenet 
Habon — also two colossi, one of which is 
supposed to sing. They sit, large and faceless, 
looking towards Mecca, the green corn and silver 
thread of Nile joining the horizon below them. 
We hired a sort of boat and went on the river. 
Our sails swelled in the wind as we dipped and sped 
along the Nile. I took my shoes off and sat on the 
edge, dangling my feet in the water and telling 
ghost stories over my shoulder to my fellow-passen- 
gers. I am looked upon as an acquisition here, and 
am listened to and laughed at. 

In the evening we were invited by the Italian 
Consul to go to a "fantasia," or native dance. We 
went into a crowded stone-paved room a step off 
the street. A few lanterns hung from the walls, a 
piece of Persian carpet on the floor, and at the end 
of the room several Arab men and women squatted 
on the floor. Before we were seated, a hideous 
female in a long striped dressing-gown, with coins 
on her forehead and elastic-side boots, began to 
chink copper castagnettes and shake her corsetless 
figure, wriggling and gliding slowly round the cir- 
cle. A dismal little gong and squeak rose from the 

[59] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

floor, repeating the same two bars of minor wailing 
for an hour without variation. Sometimes the 
woman stopped, shaking her breasts and stomach, 
and in shrill and wrangling Arabic addressed other 
two women. This was friendly and casual and 
meant nothing in particular. Later on the other 
two joined the dance in a more exaggerated form. 
Papa was so shocked that he left the room. The 
bottle trick was clever. A thick-lipped, aggressive 
darkey rolled over and over like a large undeveloped 
fish, with a lighted candle in a bottle on her head, 
her vast hips collecting folds of bedgown round her 
till her white-stockinged legs up to her garters, and 
elastic-side boots were exhibited. 



Friday, December 11th, 

WE left early for Esneh, where we saw a mag- 
nificent Roman temple underground. I 
was accompanied by a student with books under his 
arm. I asked him what he was reading, and found 
he spoke English beautifully, and the book was 
rather a stiff work on mental and moral training. I 
thought him interesting. He was a Christian of 
the name of Victor Gladius. I got a letter from 
[60] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

him at Assouan, beautifully written, beginning: 
"Dear Miss, — I am in high spirits to write to you. 
As soon as you left Esneh I was thinking about 
you. . . . Suppose I may have a good mind, a 
sound judgment, a vivid imagination, or a wide 
reach of thought of views, believe me I am not a 
genius, and can never become distinguished without 
severe application; hence all that I have must be 
the result of labour — hard, untiring labour," etc. 
He wants me to get him an appointment under 
*'Hulner" (he meant Mr. Milner). I went to see 
his neat little room; it was rather touching — a lot 
of books, among others, Wallis Budge's "Nile." 



Assouan, Saturdayj December 12th, 

WE got to Assouan late, and I rode on a camel 
for the first time through the bazaar. I 
was introduced on my return to some English offi- 
cers — Lord Athlumney and Major Lewis. I was 
promised a mount by Athlumney and arranged to 
go to their parade next day. (Rather a relief to 
meet a gentleman.) 



[61] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

Assouan, December ISth, 

THE Soudanese soldiers are tall, large- 
mouthed and of nigger type, and were 
dressed in tarbouches, loose, grey-blue cloth coats, 
knickerbockers, high white "spats," like High- 
landers, with red sashes round their waists. We 
breakfasted in the messroom. We were the first 
European women that had crossed the barrack- 
yard for eight months, and I could see courtesy and 
enthusiasm in every movement of these nice Eng- 
lishmen. I looked at the mignonette sprouting at 
intervals in the hot sand amid large-leafed weeds, 
and told the young gardener that the weeds would 
choke the mignonette. 

Lord Athlumney: Weeds ! Why, that's my mus- 
tard and cress. It does grow rather large here. 

Major Lewis: Praise our marigolds, Miss Ten- 
nant ; they have come up in no time, and aren't they 
jolly colours? 

(We heard a voice shouting: ''Muggins! Mug- 
gins! how about those eggs and bacon?") 

Lord Athlumney: This is the messroom. Let 
me introduce you to Hunter. (I bowed to the 
voice. ) 
[62] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

Mar got: I think I heard you ordering a British 
servant to get our breakfast. 

Hunter: Oh! Muggins isn't English; he's an 
Arab. Funny name, isn't it? I suppose it is short 
for something or other ! 

We all sat down in a bare, stone-floored, wooden- 
roofed room, with the walls distempered a chilly 
grey. I admired a lamp. 

Major Lewis: Oh ! that's Drago's ; he's an awful 
swell ! He'll show you his room, and you must play 
the piano. We have only got one. 

Macdonald: And you must pour boiling water 
in that to drive out the scorpions before you can 
make a sound on it. 

Lord Athlumney: I wish we'd thought of it, and 
we would have had it tuned. 

Hunter (to Muggins) : Hi! (followed by an 
Arabic oath), not cold turkey! grilled, you stupid; 
and look sharp. I'm afraid (turning to us) , you are 
having a very poor meal. Would you rather drink 
JMoselle cup or champagne? We can give you lots 
of that. I must say the tea is rather earthy. 

Lord Athlumney: Hunter is such a Sybarite! 
If he had been weeks in the desert with nothing but 

[63] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

salt wells and a cliance of a dervish bullet to pull 
you together, he'd find the tea all right. 

Lewis: Come and see my room. 

Lord Athlumney: Mine is nearest ; come and see 
mine. You dance awfully well, don't you, I\Iiss 
Tennant? I'll show you a photograph of Letty 
Lind. 

I delighted him by telling him she had given me 
lessons for two months. We adjourned to his room. 
Between photographs of ballet girls, soldiers, rela- 
tions, courbashes, spears and swords were hung up 
and a view of his Irish country place. He showed 
me everything, even to blood marks on an old bas- 
tinado. Our expression of horror delighted him, 
and Lewis added, "Oh! that is nothing; his servant 
is a murderer, and ought to be serving his time now 
— manslaughter they call it — and if it hadn't been 
that his last master was a fiery tempered chap he 
would not be here now." 

Mar got: How? 

Lewis: Oh! they came to arrest him, and S 

said, "What the hell" (or words to that effect) "do 
you mean by arresting my servant?" And his lan- 
guage was so awful that the native police retired. 
[64] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

We left them standing up against the white bar- 
rack wall touching their tarbouches. 

In the afternoon I put a judicious safety-pin into 
my white skirt, and put on the smartest shoes and 
stockings I possessed and skewered my straw hat. 
I was mounted by Lord Athlumney on a really 
beautiful Arab, about 15 hands, chestnut, with a 
turned-up nose and the gamest eye I ever saw; a 
little devil, and as swift as a swallow. I faced the 
dancing air and galloping plain of the desert. We 
went as fast as we could, and I felt I was showing 
more ankle than the safety-pin had guaranteed! 
Athlumney, seeing my efforts to keep my petticoats 
neat, said, with frank simplicity, "Oh! never mind. 
If you knew what it was to see a well turned leg 
after these Arab shanks, all bone, you would for- 
give us for seeing beyond your ankle." We rode 
home past the Beshareen camp with a white moon 
rising behind us and the scattered colours of a gor- 
geous sunset. It was dark when we reached As- 
souan, and the sky was spangled with stars. 



[65] 



PART FIVE 

Assouan, Monday^, December IMh. 

MAJOR LEWIS, Lord Athlumney, and Mr. 
Hunter fetched Papa and myself for a ride, 
and, with the eyes of the entire Assouan population 
upon us, we started off at a gallop through the town, 
nearly colhding with camels and donkeys, or the 
groups of squatting women and smoking men. My 
horse turned into his stable, going a hundred miles 
an hour, and, had it not been for the sand, must have 
slipped up. I thought he would brain himself 
against the wall, but, after an oath from Athlum- 
ney, I reassured my friends, and we reached the 
rough ground. Papa did not like the rocks, but they 
amused me. I have heard so much of Arab ponies 
over rough ground, and I do not think they are 
over-praised — active, sure, and smooth on hot, slip- 
pery rocks. I would trust them not to fall in places, 
where I certainly should be on my head. 

We returned as the moon rose, and Major Lewis 
begged us to come and have tea in his room. As he 
[66] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

had had to pick up my hat twice in the ride, I 
though it was the least we could do. He was charm- 
ing to us, and his bedroom a study. I felt trans- 
lated into a Kipling story — the rough resource of 
his chairs and cupboards, the string bed in the open 
air, the neatly-kept boots, spurs and whips hanging 
against a scarlet curtain on a bare wall. While 
Athlumney was showing Papa his Arab shields and 
spurs in the next room. Major Lewis was kissing 
my hands, and telling me I was the most wonderful 
person he had ever met — gay, kind and true, and a 
delight to be with. I told him, if he did not take 
care, I should believe that I had deceived him about 
myself, and that it was lucky I was leaving at day- 
break. 

The officers dined with us that night, and we had 
a regular orgy and "fantasia." I danced with my 
castagnettes and I think I danced better than I ever 
did in my life. The audience acted like a stimulant 
on me. The iron supports to the ship ceiling broke 
a little of the monotony of the deck, and my scarlet 
frock and black lace petticoat did good service. I 
heard Mr. Hunter say it was the most lovely thing 
he ever saw. A crowd of Arab sailors watched me 
from a distance. Cook's tourists sat against the 

[67] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

deck railing, and the five officers in uniform made 
a ring round me. We finished with Sir Roger de 
Coverley, and accompanied them to the shore to 
see them off. They looked like Bedouins as they 
galloped away, their black silhouettes clear against 
the white Assouan houses. 

December 15th, 1891. 

WE got to Luxor at tea time, and received a 
batch of letters. Lord Lytton's successor 
not named officially. Prince Eddy's engagement 
to Princess May announced. I read Arthur Bal- 
four's Glasgow address. The motif not distinct 
and, though clever, left you chilly. To say "knowl- 
edge is not power" to students at a university, is 
discouraging in the first place, and a platitude in 
the second; it is one of the things one knows but 
does not tell. I read an article in the Revue des 
Deuce Mondes, on Madame Ackerman, a rebellious 
atheist, who constantly rails against the God she re- 
fuses to believe in. There was a nice quotation 
from Madame de la Fayette. 

"La religion n'a pas a toutes les questions une 
reponse aussi precise que celle de I'immortalite en 
face de la mort ; mais il n'est pas de douleur qu'elle 
[68] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

laisse sans la soulager. C'est la difference d'une 
plaie qui est pansee a une plaie que ne Test pas." 
After dinner we rode to Karnak. I had the fleet- 
est donkey, Minnehaha (laughing waters), and we 
flew, till the crupper broke, and my saddle collided 
with its ears. While the strap was being mended, 
my friends caught me up, and remonstrated on the 
danger of galloping in the dark, where the shadows 
look Hke fences and cart ruts are as black as graves. 
I left my party, and, sitting under the piercing 
black shadow of one of the columns, looked at the 
obelisk. It stood aloof and penetrating, with a 
single star above it, and was so beautiful, that it 
filled my soul with reverence. 

December 16th. 

WE left Luxor after many affectionate adieux 
to our friends. We sailed all day. I had 
a talk to a new and charming passenger, Mr. John 
Scott, the Chief Justice out here — a friend of Lord 
Dufferin — a very gentle, sympathetic, cultivated 
man, who lent Papa his Times, and me books of all 
kinds and reviews. I read Ribblesdale's "Journey 
with Parnell," in The Nineteenth Century — very 
well done; also M. Filou on John Morley, and 

[69] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

Traill's "Life of Salisbury." I had a long talk with 
Mr. Scott about Egypt and Gladstone's foolish 
speech at Newcastle, and felt more convinced than 
ever of the impossibility of evacuation. The result 
would be a fearful state of things here; ultimate 
annexation. 

AbydoSj December 17th, 

WE all three got up early and rode our don- 
keys for twelve miles. It was splendidly 
plucky of Mamma. We lunched at Abydos, which 
is a grand temple, beautifully preserved bas-reliefs, 
and the history of Egypt since heaven knows when, 
clearly cut in acres of wall. We rode home through 
bean fields, which smelt like England: JNIamma, 
Bates (my mother's maid) and I all together, amb- 
ling along in the clear soft air, quite easy and happy. 
I got a telegram from Lord Athlumnej^, "To-day I 
find the world is hollow, and my doll is stuffed with 
sawdust; horse pining away; am seeking consola- 
tion in the desert. — A." 

Assiout, December ISth, 

WE got to Assiout in the afternoon, and ac- 
companied by Mr. Scott, I went on shore. 
He received fifteen native judges, and gave them 
[70] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

coiF^ee. He ordered a carriage and pair to drive 
Mamma to the foot of the hills to see the finest view 
in Egypt. Papa and I rode donkeys, and had a 
nice tete-a-tete talk; he is well and happy, exchang- 
ing reminiscences with Mr. Harris on old Bath days 
and early actors — Helen Faucit, Macready and 
Malibran. He has a wonderful memory, and knows 
Byron, the Ingoldsby Legends, Shakespeare, Mil- 
ton, and Tommy Moore, by the yard. He told me 
that one day in Bath — when he was about eighteen 
— while looking through a tobacconist's window, 
he saw a very pretty girl behind the counter, upon 
which he walked into the shop and straight up to 
her, kissed her, saying as an excuse, "It was all her 
fault for being so pretty!" 

We climbed slowly up the hill, and sitting down, 
looked over the valley of the Nile. The corn was 
greener than emerald, and the colour of the earth 
left by the overflow was a warm red chocolate. Be- 
low us lay the town of 5,000 inhabitants, built of 
mud bricks, but relieved by five or six beautiful 
minarets. The dyke along which we rode wound 
between us and the town, and was a busy thorough- 
fare of camels and donkeys. The groups of travel- 
ling Arabs and Bedouins, with loads of stone and 

[71] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

corn and sugar cane on their donkeys, made a har- 
mony of faded colours, like a Persian rug; men 
were standing in the water, up to their middles, 
washing clothes or sheep, and one was singing, in a 
loud, soothing monotony, a song like Biset's "A 
I'Hautesse Arabe." The range of the view from 
Assiout Hill gives one of the most complete ideas 
of Egypt, I think. 

December 19th. 

SIR HENRY ROSCOE and Mr. Darwin 
came to see us from the other ship, Barneses 
the Great. We discussed the evacuation of Egypt, 
and were all of one mind. I need hardly say that 
we got warmer over the discussion than if we had 
differed. I wrote this diary, and read "Collette," 
and walked up and down with Mr. Scott, who re- 
membered Posie and Charty as little girls going to 
Palermo in 1869. I asked Mamma what had de- 
cided her to send them to Palermo. She replied 
that she and Papa always looked upon the map to 
see how far south a place was. 

After dinner, IMamma, Mr. Scott and I talked of 
life seriously. I began by saying that I could not 
have married a country curate; that it would have 
[72] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

stifled me. Mr. Scott said very simply, "One career 
is much the same as another, if you forget yourself 
in your work; in any case, you do but scratch the 
surface." This depressed me, as I felt its truth, 
and I tried to defend myself; but I knew all the 
time that he was right. We watched a large moon 
rise while we continued our talk which brought an 
ache into my heart, though my friend was as hope- 
ful as Wordsworth in all he said. He has gone 
through much, and life has assumed its right pro- 
portions with him. I found Mamma reading "Lead, 
Kindly Light," when I went in to say good-night 
to her. 

Cairo, January Srd, 1892. 

WE have been here a fortnight to-day, and my 
impressions of Cairo society are quickly 
told. Lady Baring seems to me to have the most 
dignity — perhaps from nature, perhaps from the 
importance of her position. She is aloof and keeps 
clear of social factions and petty provincial dis- 
putes. Sir Evelyn has natural authority, and im- 
presses all with respect. He is full of every En- 
glish virtue, with an English sense of humour, and a 
great appreciation of literature of all kinds. With- 

[73] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

out being what I should call an intellectual or subtle 
man, he is a man of intellect, and has excellent com- 
mon sense. His determination might amount to 
obstinacy, and he has a directness of purpose be- 
wildering to all the Orientals. He is youthful and 
simple in his domestic relations, loving little jokes, 
and telling good stories. Under a short-sighted, 
rather silent exterior, he really observes everything, 
and is tres convaincu. Without having the fancy 
to be conceited, he knows the value of his own qual- 
ities. I like him much, and had some interesting 
talk with him. 

Lady Grenfell is a very important and active 
member of society — a fashionable figure, with a 
small waist and a great deal of social energy. She 
and Sir Francis, or "The Sirdar," as he is called, are 
delightful together, most happy and understand- 
ing. He is a perfect dear — big, comfortable, author- 
itative, enjoying everything, arranging everything; 
fond of work, full of military effect, and full of 
heart and nature. I often ran in before dinner to 
have a talk with him. 

Mr. Milner is both practically and intellectually 
the first of our English officials; he is loved and 
trusted, and has done more to make our occupation 
[74] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

popular than anyone. I never met Scott Moncrieff, 
but Garstin, his successor, is a dear man, sensible, 
unaffected and intelligent. Mr. Money is the old- 
est English resident in Cairo. The pretty woman 

of the place is the General's wife, Mrs. W , a 

lovely, elf -like little face, with fresh colouring, good 
hair, eyes and ej^ebrows, and coral pink run into a 
white skin — what Baron Malorti would call a 

"keepsake" face. General W is handsome and 

looks about thirty-five. Colonel Kitchener is a man 
of energy and ambition, but he has not got an in- 
teresting mind. 

The only two natives of real intelligence and in- 
terest that I met while I was abroad was Princess 
Nazli, the ex-Khedive's first cousin, a woman of 
European emancipation, receiving both men and 
women unveiled in her own house, although outside 
her home she wears the yashmak. A woman of past 
forty, powdered and painted under the eyes, with 
the remains of beauty ; a face full of experience and 
intelligence; a gi^eat talker, frightfully indiscreet, 
but graphic, and well taught in English. The other, 
an Armenian, Nubar Pasha, ex-Prime Minister, a 
man of sixty-eight, and extremely clever, with a 
subtle intellect, and unscrupulous political morality. 

[75] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

December 29th, 

MAMMA and I were taken by Lady Baring 
to see the Vice Reine, as the Khediva is 
called. She was on her dahabieh — a stoutish, fair- 
complexioned lady, with a Parisian dress of stone- 
coloured cloth and skunk fur. She spoke French, 
and we all sat in a circle round her. An occasional 
remark was made on the obvious — the weather, the 
Nile, the ship, or the teacups. We all spoke 
French. I sat next Lady Alice Portal, who looked 
charming in a large black hat. We drank coffee 
out of jewelled teacups. 



[76] 



PART SIX 

December Slst. 

PAPA, Mamma, Godfrey Webb, Miss Fane 
and I visited Wilfred Blunt, an enthusiastic 
Radical poet, with an elaborate plan of living like a 
Bedouin, under the impression that people in the 
world are saying: "Strange man that! buried in his 
wild desert life, writing and reading," etc. He is 
one of the most beautiful men I have ever met. We 
went in a dusty train to a little station, and were 
met by the great man beautifully dressed on a splen- 
did white donkey. A lot of donkeys and camels 
waited to take us to his house. 

There was a strong contrast in Papa's neat, 
dapper person, dressed in Lovat mixture, with a 
green Tyrolese hat and smart "spats" — energy 
and success in every movement — following this tall, 
artistic dreamer through a labyrinth of unroofed 
Arab rooms into an orange garden, and presented 
there to a farouche and good-looking daughter 
"Judith," also in Bedouin garments with an ivory 

[77] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

dagger stuck through a wide silk sash and a long 
brown cloak paralysing to all movement, but grace- 
ful and pretty. The girl showed me her bedroom — 
a squalid mixture of rags and shields. A gun hung 
upon the wall. I asked its purpose, and she said it 
was to protect her from the Dervishes. I pointed 
out the civilised distance that separated her from 
such a probability, and she said, "Any animal, 
hyaena, etc., might come at night." I replied, 
"Would not an umbrella be handier? or can you 
shoot?" She blushed, and I felt I had said the 
wrong thing. Lady Anne was very nice to us, and 
gave us tea ; and we then all rode off to the ostrich 
farm, on the way to the station. This was tiresome 
and full of fleas. 

We dined at the club, guests of Major Lloyd, 
Captain Beauchamp and Captain Martyr. I went 
to the midnight ser\H[ce with Mamma and Godfrey, 
and Papa went to the Walkers' party. I stayed 
alone for the Holy Communion, a beautiful service, 
which I shall never forget. The clergyman preached 
on the future. I gathered from his sermon that we 
should not find the continual new openings and 
opportunities which the word "future" implies to 
[78] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

hopeful young people, but a chaos of consequences 
closely and inevitably woven with the past. I 
walked home with Alfred Milner. 

January 7th, 1892. 

I WENT to Princess Nazh's opera-box. She 
told me much of the education of women and 
her short married life. She has de heaux restes, 
but is heavily painted under her eyes. We spoke 
of her cousin, the Khedive. She said he was stupid 
and kind, and when I added "Very good, I have 
heard," she said, "He has the virtue of his nature, 
and no more." She was brilliantly indiscreet, and 
told appalling stories of Oriental vice and ignor- 
ance. The Arab pashas are brutal, not to say 
bestial. She said she would rather die than be un- 
der the French, and raved about the greatness of 
England and all we had done for Egypt. She has 
many friends — the DufFerins, Layards and other 
English correspondents. She put her cloak and 
yashmak on me, and begged me to be photographed 
in them. I was assisted by a hideous old slave, 
whom the princess told me had been one of her 
husband's mistresses. She was brought up with her 
and thirty other slaves. One day in a rage she 

[79] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

told me she sold all these early companions of her 
youth as a public example, and gave the money to 
the Turkish army, which was in rags. Now, she 
tells me, she has to pension them off, and they live 
with her or about the house like vagrants. 

January 7th. 

1RODE to an early review on a smart-actioned 
chestnut of Captain Beauchamp's. I felt 
happy in the glorious sunlight, racing and bound- 
ing along the short, sandy grass of the racecourse, 
with the dust blowing and the bands playing with a 
crude military rhythm accompanied by the rat-a-ta 
of little drums, all the staff galloping and curvet- 
ting round the dignity of Sir Francis Grenfell, 
who looked magnificent on his grey Arab. 

After lunch we went in a steamship to see the 
Barrage, with Alfred Milner and a lot of other 
people. It was a marvellous sight — perfect me- 
chanism and beautifully kept. Originally French, 
but practically adapted by us, the three great 
branches of the Nile are entirely workable through 
the Barrage. Sir Colin Scott MoncriefF has done 
wonders for the irrigation of Egypt. 

On our return we heard that the Khedive had 
[80] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

died. The native doctors were almost entirely to 
blame, as they treated him for diseases he had not 
got. National prejudice kept all English doctors 
away from him. Sir Evelyn Baring told me that 
there were a certain number of people in Cairo who 
thought he had poisoned the Khedive. The sudden 
blow of the Khedive's death affected everyone very 
much, and we all wore black that night. 

January Sth, 

WE went to the Khedive's funeral, a never-to- 
be-forgotten sight. Abdin Square, full of 
soldiers and a brilliant coloured crowd kept in order 
by mounted police. Major Fen wick and Colonel 
Kitchener in cocked hats, using their batons with 
much violence. Godfrey Webb, Papa, Mamma and 
I sat on the wall of the barracks overlooking the 
great square. I frightened my friends by hanging 
my feet over, as the twist the seat gave to my ribs 
when sitting the correct way was more than I could 
stand. The sun beat fiercely on our white wall. 
We were so much above the crowd that the effect 
was more like a Turkey carpet finely woven of 
beautiful colours than an excited, condensed, sway- 
ing mass of people. Shrieks and odd sounds rent 

[81] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

the air, and an occasional Arab in orange or tur- 
quoise would break the lines of the police and rush 
across the open spaces like a Derby dog, hotly pur- 
sued by a mounted and perspiring officer. Car- 
riage after carriage of white plumes and black bon- 
nets drove into the square — ambassadors, ministers 
and officials of all kinds with grave faces. Every- 
one seemed to be waiting for someone or something. 
Out of the far corner of the square, before the front 
door of the palace where all the principal people 
stood, emerged a group of men carrying a coffin 
upon their heads. It was like a large primitive toy 
steam-engine. A little funnel with the Khedive's 
tarbouche placed on the top and all his medals 
hung round it. Eight of Cook's steamboat men in 
sailor jerseys and with naked legs and turbans 
walked in front with vast wreaths of violets and 
laurels, and immediately following were fifty hired 
women in black, with long black veils, all wailing in 
loud, long, shrieks, and throwing dust from the road 
into the air. They tore their black draperies, fling- 
ing gaunt arms above their heads and waving bits 
of fusty black in the wind. They were hirelings, 
and their shrieks a custom without soul, but bought 
grief is barbaric and haunting. After these came 
[82] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

the procession of important people, headed by Sir 
Evelyn Baring and the French officials, etc. 

I need hardly say that the crowd broke loose, and 
the confusion in the square following on the pro- 
cession was terrific — the screams, scuffles and beat- 
ings and the kaleidoscopic colours all riveted us, 
and appeared like a realistic picture of the Cruci- 
fixion without the peace of the Cross. The silent 
guard of the sunburnt citadel, mosques and min- 
arets were paying a greater tribute to death than 
the uniformed procession or yelling crowd. 

January 12th, 

WE met Nubar Pasha, the ex-Prime Minister, 
a remarkable man, with a quick, subtle 
Armenian mind. At first the conversation hung. 
Nubar talked of Palmerston. Papa spoilt this by 
saying in a tone of surprised remonstrance, "I knew 
him," which did not advance us. I began to abuse 
the Egyptians in a half -laughing, half-serious way ; 
but he stuck up for them in a light, quick, effec- 
tive manner. He said he was as much an Egyptian 
as Goschen was an Englishman. I said that from 
what I had seen of Egyptians, I would rather be 
an Armenian, at which he bowed. I asked why he 

[83] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

should wish to claim their nationality, and went 
on challenging him, till I made him laugh by say- 
ing, "You know if there were ten Egyptians as 
clever as you, we should not be occupying Egypt." 
He smiled, and said my intelligence renewed his 
youth (he is sixty-eight), and asked why he had 
not met me before. He abused Sir Evelyn Baring, 
with whom I hear he had had a hot quarrel. He 
praised Milner highly. His hatred of the French 
amused me, but I expect he hated us just as much. 
I felt he was a wily, wicked old man, but his man- 
ners are imperial, and he has a fine head. 

Wednesday, January ISth. 

WE were given a dinner at the club. I had a 
delightful talk with Tom Baring on early 
English literature; discussed the "Sentimental 
Journey," "Richard II," style in prose and novel- 
ists in general. We played "Consequences" and 
"Telegrams." After dinner Godfrey and I did 
the best "telegrams," and gave the subjects. 
1. Trying to pass on to another lady a drunken 
maid. 2. An American husband warning his wife 
against Cairo society. I don't fancy the Turf Club 
in Cairo has often had a lot of people with pencils 
in their hands sitting round the dinner table. 
[84] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

January IMh, 

I LUNCHED with Sir Evelyn, and he drove me 
back. We heard of Prince Eddy's death. This 
cast a tremendous gloom over everyone. I wrote 
to the Prince of Wales (afterwards King Edward) 
and feel deep sympathy for them both. 

Januarj/ 15th, 

A MEETING at the Continental Hotel to 
sign a telegram of sympathy to the Queen. 
Sir Evelyn made a short and genuine speech. Mr. 
Money spoke for everyone with a true ring of elo- 
quence and condolence, alluding to Queen Vic- 
toria's letter to wives, mothers and sweethearts at 
the time of the Crimean War. 

Saturday, January IQth. 

MY last day in Cairo. I got up early, and 
went for a long walk with A. Milner and 
had a memorable talk. I feel enriched by one great 
and true friend. I found Papa packing up on my 
return, fussy and busy (he left out his nightgown in 
the end!) but was very good and uncomplaining, 
considering his servant, our courier, was unable to 
do him the smallest service, being laid up with low 
fever. 

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A LITTLE JOURNEY 

Farewell visits were paid us by people, and pres- 
ents of all kinds given. Major Lloyd begged me to 
take a little old silver matchbox which had been all 
through the wars with him, also a cigarette case. 
He is a gentle soldier of the best British type. Cap- 
tain Beauchamp drove us to see the arrival of the 
young Khedive. Sir Evelyn had a military escort, 
which caused a sensation. I thought it clever of 
him to assert his authority at a critical moment. 
There was a small Arab boy in a yellow chemise 
climbing up a date palm in the private gardens of 
the barracks below who fascinated me; he looked 
hke a lovely little parrot in the palm tree. 

We had time on our return to change into travel- 
ling gowns and catch the evening train to Alexan- 
dria. Every friend came to see me off at the station 
with bonbons, flowers, fruit and presents. We 
steamed slowly out of sight of our waving friends, 
AiTived at Alexandria ; doubtful meal ; iron pillow ; 
Lady Charles Beresford reading a French novel on 
her bed at 9.30 p.m.; her child dangerously ill with 
pneumonia in the next passage. 



[86] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

January 19th, 

STARTED on the Gironde, the foulest boat 
that was ever called seaworthy — small, old, 
dirty and rolling. Vile food at surprising hours — 
coffee at 7.30, dinner with five courses at 10.30 
a.m., cold ham and beef at 2, tea at 7, and a heavy 
meal at 9 — all poisonous. 

January 20th. 

MY third day on the Gironde. I have got up 
for the first time, chiefly to please Papa and 
Godfrey and get what is called "the splendid fresh 
air," but what, on a ship like this, means a search- 
ing smell of rotten tomatoes and a driving gale of 
little smuts, which go into one's eyes whichever way 
one sits, walks or turns. I love Dr. Johnson more 
than ever, because he shared my loathing for the 
sea and said that "no man with the wits to get into 
gaol need be a sailor." Never a moment's quiet; 
and this throb, throb, eternally felt, first in one's 
temple, then in one's stomach, echoing through the 
marrow of one's spine; stale food, condensed sweet- 
ened Swiss milk, and no possibility of fresh water 
or fresh anything; steam, smuts and cooking fol- 
lowing the ship unceasingly. Papa and Godfrey 

[87] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

are splendid sailors, good-humoured and happy, 
and smoke all day. Mamma and I have nice talks ; 
she is a sweet companion. She came down to talk 
to me to-night after dinner. 

Mamma: Godfrey asked me if I played back- 
gammon. I told him I had not played for forty 
years. 

M,: Is it a nice game, Mamma? 

Mamma: My dear, I would as soon run and kick 
a ball along the floor. (Laughter.) 

31.: Did you eat any dinner? 

Mamma: No, it was poor stuff. Your father 
said it was good, and I did not contradict him. 

M,: You're so sensible; but you know, when I 
hear nonsense talked, it makes me physically ill 
not to contradict. Listening to Papa at times, when 
he quotes the last fool, and then adds, "I am not 
saying one thing or another, but just telling you 
the opinion he gave me," is more than human na- 
ture can bear. 

Mamma: 1 too have been very impatient with 
him. He talks without going into the thing, and 
flies off about nothing at all. 

M.: You are very wise with him; the older I 
get the more I see it. Why didn't you influence 
[88] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

him to think less of material things? His first 
questions about a woman are nearly* invariably 
"Est-elle richef (I don't know whether he thinks 
French modifies his curiosity) ; and the second, 
"Have they any children?" 

(Later on). M,: I'm so glad you taught us, 
by your remarks and example, the unimportance of 
one's likes and dislikes, heat and cold, and whether 
people are vulgar or not. 

Mamma: It is cruel to make children precious. 
They have little tolerance or unselfishness, and be- 
come odious to themselves and to other people. 

M,: I'm glad we were allowed to see and be 
with whoever we liked. It gives one courage, and 
I'm sure it makes one capable. Look at Charlotte. 

Mamma: Her courage is marvellous in every- 
thing. I believe if she had to go to New York to- 
morrow morning, she would pack up and be quite 
ready to start. 

M.: 1 should not be so good for a journey, I 
fear! 

Mamma: You see, you are a wretched sailor. I 
think you have more social courage than anyone I 
ever saw in my life. 

I said good-bye to Mamma and Papa at Mar- 

[89] 



A LITTLE JOURNEY 

seilles Station on the night of the 23rd, and I felt 
my heart tighten as I kissed them both. I had 
loved my time abroad with them, and whatever I 
may have said about trifling irritations or any seem- 
ing irreverence of criticism, it does not touch or 
diminish my true appreciatoin, gratitude and un- 
changing love for them both. 
January, 1892. 



THE END 



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L5Ap'22 



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